


Mortal Offense

by Ludovica



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, All sorts of OOC, Incest, Incest Kink, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Threesome - M/M/M, apparently, fucking for economical benefit, slight D/s overtones, yeah that's a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 12:38:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ludovica/pseuds/Ludovica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the King under the Mountain, frustrated by the Elvenking's demands, insults him and his kin with equally insolent demands of his own, it becomes apparent that Dwarven culture and Elven culture are far more different than he thought...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mortal Offense

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Hobbit kink meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/2235.html?thread=2987707#t3404987), once again :)
> 
> This is an AU in which Erebor has never been taken by Smaug.

It had been meant to be an insult.

Thranduil had grown righteously insolent in his demands, unwilling to listen to any arguments but his own. Yes, Thorin understood that the Elves needed armor, but they had hardly been able to produce three quarters of what they had quarried last year, and they also had some very lucrative offers from a king of Men in the South of Mirkwood, who needed swords and axes and spears to fight the ever-rising number of wayward Orcs.

Really, it was hardly more than a question of supply and demand, and while the Dwarves of Erebor had been trading with the Elves since their kingdom had been reestablished, they did not have some sort of exclusive agreement to sell their goods to them first, regardless of other people willing to pay good prices.

“I know that you have offers from the Iron Hills,” Thorin growled after another drawn-out rant by Thranduil about Dwarven ungratefulness.

“This ‘offer’ is hardly to be taken serious”, Thranduil hissed. “Your kinsman Dain wants us to pay twice the price we usually pay! For inferior quality! It’s absolutely outrageous!”

Thorin rolled his eyes. He had received Thranduil for a private audience – only the two kings among themselves, and that pretty princeling of Thranduil’s, who had been hanging around his father like a shadow ever since they had arrived – and Thranduil thanked him for this favor by badmouthing a kinsman of his host and trade partner? Elves really were presumptuous creatures.

Speaking of presumptuous, the princeling was standing next to the door of the small hall, arms crossed in front of his chest, back straight as a post, staring at Thorin with alert, bright green eyes in a brazen sort of way, like few would have dared in his presence. He was slender and tall like a young tree, yet with a sort of youthful vitality in his bearing which his ethereal father lacked. Thorin hadn’t seen any adolescent Elf before, but on the other hand, he hadn’t seen many Elves anyway.

And it was better that way, really.

Thranduil had obviously noticed him rolling his eyes, for he straightened his own back and downright bristled in front of him. As if Thorin were impressed by his height.

“Now then, King under the Mountain”, the Elvenking sneered, “I have told you everything I have to say. My people need armor. We live in constant danger, and we need to be able to protect ourselves. I have traded with your ancestors since the time the kingdom of Erebor was first founded, and I will not withdraw until I have what I came for!”

Honestly, Thranduil’s obstinacy was slowly wrecking Thorin’s nerves. They had been at this for hours now, and he had told Thranduil over and over and over again that he did not have enough metal and that the Men simply paid more than Thranduil was willing to pay. Apparently all those centuries must have rotted away Thranduil’s brain, or maybe his pointy ears were even more useless than old Oin’s…

“I have told you a hundred times now, and I will tell you once more, Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm. If you are not willing to overbid the offers I have gotten from others, there is nothing I can do for you.” His voice was a low growl by now. He had grown more than impatient with the impertinent Elvenking, and he made no effort to reveal this. He was King under the Mountain, by Durin’s beard, he shouldn’t have to deal with prissy Elves and their unreasonable claims.

Thranduil puffed up even more, and it gave Thorin gleeful satisfaction to see his cheeks actually turn slightly pink with indignation.

“Well then, King of Dwarves”, Thranduil snarled at him, “What other option do I have, seeing that I can’t afford to pay more than those ‘other’ offers you have? We need this armor. So what do you want from us?!”

He still didn’t understand it! Thorin just wanted to get this over with, get those audacious Elves out of his palace and go on with things that would actually lead to something.

His hands clutched the arms of the high chair he was sitting in, and he straightened himself now, looking at the Elf-king whose eyes were on one level with his.

“You will get your armor when you and your son serve me in my bedchamber, no sooner and no later.”

Thorin knew that this insult was outrageous. He knew that it would maybe strain the relations between Erebor and the Mirkwood for a few years, but honestly, Thranduil’s obstinacy was driving him mad. He needed to get this over with, and he honestly didn’t care if he offended his trade partner at the moment.

But instead of turning purple with rage like any Dwarf would have after such a slight, Thranduil just raised his eyebrows. The boy mirrored his father’s expression, his stance shifting ever so slightly. The Elvenking shot his princeling a glance, then he looked up at Thorin again.

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?” Thranduil’s voice sounded impatient, ever so slightly irritated, but… not angry. Not offended in the slightest.

Thranduil tilted his head slightly towards Thorin (who was trying his hardest to keep a blank expression). “We will be in your chambers after dinner.” Then he turned around, motioning his princeling to open the door, and left with his son.

Thorin stayed behind in his high chair, staring at the door for a few more minutes, utterly perplexed.

Apparently there were some parts of Elven culture that Thorin had not the slightest clue about.

~~~

They indeed waited in his rooms after dinner.

Both of them had retired early that night, not early enough to raise suspicion, but early enough to keep Thorin from following them right away. So he had been forced to wait and keep entertaining his guests while he still tried to wrap his mind around the fact that apparently he was to find two Elves in his bedroom, ready to, well… ‘serve’ him…

He truly didn’t know what to think about that. It was hardly a proper thing to do for a king to decide disputes in the bedroom, and if he went through with this, he would have to accept Thranduil’s offer and decline that of the Southerners…

However, when he entered his chambers and found the two of them already there, both father and son in hardly more than flimsy, shimmering dressing gowns, he decided that a little impropriety on his part wouldn’t cause the halls of Erebor to cave in. He’d certainly find a way to make amends to the Men.

They both turned around when Thorin entered. The princeling – he really should have bothered to remember his name – bowed slightly, while Thranduil merely regarded him with a slow tilt of his head. Thorin replied with a curt nod, then he sat down in a large, sturdy armchair next to the fireplace, from where he had a good view of the bed. He hated to admit it, but he was slightly unsure about the process of this whole affair. How did one go about making use of the services of two royal Elves?

On the other hand… The mere thought of having that high and mighty Elf king at his mercy in more than one way – after all, what was a son other than the weakest spot of his father? – was starting to rouse dark desires in Thorin…

He leaned back in his chair and examined both of them. Unmoved, unemotional faces, cool, unfazed eyes, smooth, silver tresses, not a hair out of place, even though Thranduil was not wearing his crown anymore, and his boy had undone his braids.

He wondered if he could make those faces flush with lust, if he could perturb those cool gazes… It would be easy enough to ruffle those neat cascades of golden silk, that was for sure…

They did not seem to get impatient, even though Thorin took his time scrutinizing them; they just stood and looked at him, a hardly visible smirk on Thranduil’s lips, slightly tense anticipation on his son’s face. Thorin laced his fingers together and raised them to his chin, elbows on the armrests, contemplating his further course of action.

“Undress”, he finally rumbled, voice reverberating from the vaulted ceiling. When both Elves reached up to the buttons on the collars of their robes, he raised a hand. “Each other.”  
A little smile curled the corner of Thranduil’s mouth, and he turned around to wave his son closer, every single motion deliberate, graceful, like the slow dance of willow leaves in a gentle breeze.

The princeling walked over to his father, his movements not quite as elegant as his father’s, but more energetic, with a swift boldness that reminded Thorin a little bit of a young roebuck. He showed surprisingly little deference when he started to open his father’s robe, fingers dipping beneath the gossamer fabric once in a while, a grin playing around his lips when he managed to elicit a little shudder from his high-born father and got reprimanded by a low click of the Woodland king’s tongue.

The Elfling carefully slid the robe off Thranduil’s arms, leaving the tall Elf entirely naked. Thorin narrowed his eyes a bit as he took in the slender body, white skin that was gleaming golden in the warm light of his lamps, perfectly flawless and of a hairlessness that was so different from anything Thorin had ever seen that it caused a strange little twinge in the depths of his loins. Lustrous, silver tresses fell over slender shoulders, lithe limbs and lissome torso moving with otherworldly grace when he started to undress his son.

He was less playful than his son when he opened the younger Elf’s robe, nimble fingers working the buttons open in hardly more than a heartbeat, before he just let it slide down over the prince’s shoulders, pooling around his slender ankles.

The princeling was long-limbed, with strength in his shoulders and slender muscles in his arms. He was ever so slightly more muscular than his father, of that curious kind of athletic physique that made Elves look hard and fit without taking away from their airy grace.

Thranduil cast Thorin a glance from the corners of his eyes, as if asking for further instructions. Thorin just gave a small wave of his hand, gesturing them to continue.

The Elvenking raised one of his eyebrows slightly, then he turned to his son again, stroking his silky hair to the side before he cupped the nape of his neck with one long-fingered hand and leaned forward, breathing a butterfly kiss on his mouth, but lingering, even though he was hardly touching his lips with his own. The boy pushed closer to his father, opening his mouth, one of his hands grasping Thranduil’s hips and leaning towards him with his whole body. Thranduil’s hand moved from his neck to his jaw and held him firmly while he let his tongue slide into the younger Elf’s mouth.

They continued this kiss, open-mouthed, so that Thorin could see their tongues sliding against each other, pink and wet and as nimble as the younger Elf’s hand that now threaded into Thranduil’s sunlight-colored hair, fingertips rubbing over the spot just behind the king’s ear, making him sigh lowly against his son’s lips.

It was quite obvious that there was a strategy behind what they were doing, a sort of game plan maybe. Every movement of both of them was sure and deliberate, and the little moan coming from the prince’s lips when Thranduil dragged his thumb over the little dip just above his hipbone made Thorin wonder just how well the Elvenking knew his offspring’s body.

The mere thought sent a hot shiver down his spine while he watched the princeling’s hips coil against his father’s loins. He knew little of Elven customs and morals, so he did not know if this was something more acceptable in their society, but they looked so utterly deviant… Two beings of such similar physical appearance, moving their bodies against each other in such a fashion… The sure, ever so slightly comforting manner in which Thranduil touched his son, and the confiding look on the prince’s face, the way he yielded under his father’s touch… It was so very clear what they were to each other, and what they were doing was so very wrong for Thorin…

He was breathing harder by now. Heat was filling his body, curling in his loins…

He stood up from his chair, but he didn’t walk towards the Elves, even though Thranduil stopped his son and followed the Dwarf king’s movements with his eyes.

Thorin opened a drawer on the side of the room and took out a little bottle of oil he usually used for his beard and braids. He did not indulge in pleasures of the flesh very regularly, so he had no use for the more special sorts of oils that were used for this sort of endeavor, but this should work well enough.

He tossed the little bottle towards the two Elves, and the younger one caught it without effort.

“I want you to prepare your father, lad; on the bed, with you atop of him. And be thorough with it.”

The younger Elf raised an eyebrow in the very same fashion as his father (though his brows were not half as expressive as the king’s), but then he bowed his head slightly and kissed his father’s lips again, pushing him back against the bed gently. Thranduil obliged with an unreadable look at Thorin, lying back on the bed with his legs spread so that his boy could lie down between them.

Thorin walked around them while he took off his fur-vest and started to open his belt-buckle. The view of the princeling kneeling over his father like this, with the long, slender legs of the Elvenking spread like that of an eager wench, made all the layers of clothing he was wearing hardly bearable. The younger Elf’s golden hair was falling over his shoulders and formed a veil that hid their faces for a second before Thranduil gently stroked his son’s hair back behind his pointed ear. The prince seemed to whisper something against Thranduil’s lips while one of his long-fingered, slender hands ran over his father’s long neck and down his chest, over his sides and thighs, dipping over the inside of his legs and between them.

The Elvenking sighed lowly at whatever his son’s clever fingers were doing to him. It was hard for Thorin to see what exactly was going on, but his clothes seemed to become even tighter when his eyes roamed over Thranduil’s stretched-out body, his pupils blown, mouth slightly open, chest moving more than it had just a few moments before, his abdominal muscles tightening while he watched his son spread the oil on his finger. His hard length twitched where it lay against his belly.

The now oil-slick and glistening hand of the younger Elf stroked over his father’s erect cock, rubbing his head with his fingertips before he dragged his fingers over his whole length and down over his sack. Thranduil moaned lowly when those audacious fingers dipped under his sack, and Thorin was nearly sure that he knew what the boy was doing there.

The prince’s eyes were glassy with arousal by now, filled with green fire, his own hard cock jutting out from between his legs. For a split second Thorin thought about making the boy fuck his father himself, but he pushed that thought aside a moment later. He would have both of them, and he would not take second place with anything tonight.

Then the first finger seemed to breech Thranduil – at least judging by the deep moan that came over the Woodland king’s lips. His boy smirked slightly, an expression that made him look so incredibly alike his father for a second that Thorin immediately started to undo the clasps of his jerkin.

One of Thranduil’s hands found its way to the back of the prince’s head, long fingers tangling in strands of golden hair – then the loose touch turned into a tug as the long body of the Elvenking arched under his son’s slightly more muscular form.

“Legolas…,” Thranduil moaned with closed eyes, undulating his body against his son’s touch.

At least Thorin knew the boy’s name now. He took his jerkin off; laying it over the same chair that was already holding his vest and belt.

“Get him nice and wide, lad…”, he growled lowly while he walked around the bed until he was behind the two of them. He was down to his breeches and boots by now, and he noticed how Thranduil was watching him, between rolling his eyes in lust and moaning lowly and seductively. For a second he was sure that the Elvenking’s eyes were roaming over his chest – but then the angle of Legolas’ wrist changed slightly, and Thranduil threw his head back again and keened.

Thorin could hardly suppress a grin at how vocal he was; it was quite hard to tear his gaze away from the lust-fogged face of the other king. However, the prince’s rear was nearly as tempting as his father’s moans…

He ran his hand over his right buttock in a gentle manner first, before he grabbed it hard and pulled him back slightly, so as to get a bit of a better access to that delicious Elven rump. He could feel the young Elf tense up for a second, then he relaxed again, and when Thorin leaned forward to take the bottle from where the Elfling had put it next to his father on the bed, those green eyes met his own, and the hungry fire in them, the way in which his mouth moved just the tiny bit, a tug on the corner of his mouth, a slight opening of his lips, sent hot shivers over Thorin’s spine.

“Deviant creature you are, aye, lad?” he whispered, and the sound of his voice made the prince bite his lower lip slightly. With a smirk he stood up straight again and opened the bottle once more. He knew about the effect his voice could have on some people, and it made him quite proud that even Elves seemed to react to it.

“Keep stretching your father, lad.”

Instead of just coating his fingers in it, he tipped the bottle slightly and poured the oil into the Elfling’s cleft while he pulled his buttock out of the way with the other hand.

“You’ve got time until I deem you well-enough prepared for me to use.” The low timbre of his voice sounded throughout the domed cave room, and once again he was treated to the view of a slight quiver running along the Elf prince’s shoulders. Thorin rubbed his thumb over the still tight entrance between those firm ass cheeks, watching the body and hands of the young Elf in front of him. The first finger he pushed in earned him another little shiver and a gasp – and a low moan of the Elvenking as his son’s hand sped up, maybe in an attempt to fulfill his task fast enough.

“So eager…”, Thorin rumbled when the prince pushed his rear back slightly. The heat that was cursing through his body was gathering between his legs more and more; his cock was straining against his breeches, and dark desire clouded his mind. Quickly he pushed a second finger in and started to fuck the Elfling, curling his fingers to make him keen just like his father had earlier. The prince’s voice was a bit lighter than his fathers, silk rather than velvet, and it sent waves of heat like molten gold down Thorin’s spine.

He also noticed how well the young Elf seemed to deal with the intrusion of Thorin’s fingers – there was hardly any resistance at all, the well-trained muscle relaxing around his fingers, pulling him deeper, downright swallowing his fingers down.

The mere thought of how much experience the Elfling might have had made the thought of not pushing into him in the very next second absolutely unbearable.

Thorin withdrew his fingers and made quick work of his boots and breeches, then he contemplated for a moment how to best go about this. The bed was low, but still there was the thing with the difference in their heights… His legs were just a bit longer than the prince’s thighs, so how…

He quickly found a solution, though, and just climbed onto the bed, standing behind the Elfling’s body and pulling his ass farther up, making him arch his body into the grip of Thorin’s strong hands. With a hardly visible smirk Thorin grabbed the bottle of oil again and spread plenty of it over his hard, thick cock.

One of his hands found the Elf prince’s neck and held him so that he had to look his father in the eye. Thorin could see Thranduil’s face across his son’s shoulder, crystal blue eyes burning into his own, a sort of amused interest mixing with the dim flame of his arousal.

“Hands on the blanket now, lad”, Thorin commanded, and the Elfling followed suit, pulling his fingers out of his father and bracing himself with them against the soft bed, one hand on each side of the Woodland king’s body. The breathing of both was labored now, and the gasps and pants of two Elves were the only noise to be heard in the cave room for a few moments before Thorin pushed into the prince, drawing out a low, breathless moan as his girth spread the Elven body a good bit more than his fingers had before.

The tight heat made Thorin’s breath hitch for a moment, before he pushed in deeper, burying himself completely in warm, immortal flesh.

While one of his hands stayed on Legolas’ hip, the one which had formerly been at his neck found its way to the Elvenking’s ankle and pulled his leg in his direction, making him stretch it out on the bed. Thranduil shot him a glance over his son’s shoulder, while the boy laid his shoulder against his father’s chest, heaving while Thorin started to move his hips, slowly, in and out in little circles at first. He watched as one of Thranduil’s long-fingered hands ran over the back of his son’s head, through his silky golden hair, watched the motion of his lips as he whispered something in their strange language, reassuring him, maybe.

Thorin’s hand ran over the long, slender leg of the Elvenking, drawing his eyes upon him, so that he could shoot him a smoldering, nearly taunting look, before he started to thrust into the Elfling in earnest.

The young Elf moaned against his father’s neck, slender body arching beautifully with Thorin’s hard, unrelenting thrusts. He let go of Thranduil’s leg and grabbed the Princeling’s neck again, pulling him up so that his father could watch the expression on his face as the King under the Mountain took his pleasure on his body, as he fucked into him with outright abandon now. The Elfling’s moans became louder and louder, and soon they were accompanied by low grunts, hushed curses and heavy breathing from the Dwarf king.

But as marvelous as the feeling of the Elf Prince’s ever-young body was around his cock, as hot as his moans made Thorin’s blood boil, this was nothing compared to what those crystal eyes did to him, staring over the younger Elf’s shoulder right up at Thorin, burning their way into his body and mind. His body trembled under the watchful gaze of the Elvenking, and he nearly spilled himself inside of the warm, tight body in front of him when he felt a long, slender leg rubbing against his calf, and up against the back of his knee.

He stopped his thrusts and slightly bent over the slender back of the young Elf in front of him, catching his breath while he ran his hands over strong shoulders and slim sides. He noticed how the Elfling below him started getting a little bit impatient; wriggling on his cock like a snake in the water, but Thorin just gave him one more hard thrust before he pulled out.

“Get off your father and in front of him, lad; Thranduil“- he hesitated for a second, watching the Woodland King’s reaction to this informal address, but continued when he just saw an amused half-smirk and a raised eyebrow in response – “on your hands and knees. You can… look after your son while I will see for myself how well he has fulfilled his task.”

Those words earned Thorin the second half of that smirk. Thranduil sat up as his son crawled over his legs, and tilted his head graciously. “As you wish”, the Elvenking answered and made a show of slowly turning around, graceful like a cat, presenting his body to the King under the Mountain like a superb dish.

His son had settled himself in front of him now, leaning back slightly, his body propped up on his elbows so that he could watch as his father licked over the length of his slender cock.

Thorin watched for a few moments while the older Elf let his lips run over the sensitive flesh between the legs of his son, before he let it slide into his mouth, slowly but steadily taking all of it before he started to suck him in a languid fashion.

The princeling moaned lowly, and a whispered “Ada…” came over his lips before his hands started to run through Thranduil’s hair, directing his motions while he shot Thorin an expectant glance, his mouth open from heavy breathing and his eyes lust-clouded.

Thorin felt a grin tug at the corners of his mouth when he finally grabbed the Elvenking’s hips and pulled him back a bit, lining his still slick cock up with his hole.

The boy had indeed prepared Thranduil well. Though the tightness greeting him was just as delicious as the Elfling’s, he slid in with ease, wrenching a low groan from the lips which were currently stretched around Legolas’ cock.

His first thrusts were slow, deliberate. He experimented with the angle, until he managed to rub the head of his cock against the sensitive bundle of nerves just an inch or two inside of the Elvenking’s body. Thranduil began to shake with every thrust after this, and the groans got louder, mingling with the panting of his son, who seemed to be getting closer and closer as well (even though Thorin neither had special insight in the matters of sexual stamina in Elves, nor did he know if the same signs of impending orgasm applied to the Firstborn as they did to Dwarves). The young Elf was more than only panting now, in any case – every single one of his breaths came out in a mix of low whining and moaning, and his sweet gasps were a lovely contrast to the deep, throaty moans of his father as Thorin sped up, not far from the edge himself by now.

The Elvenking’s body was trembling with lust under his hands, tensing once in a while whenever slightly louder moans escaped him. Heat was surging through Thorin’s body, and his vision blurred more and more – until the heat finally cumulated, washing over him like a wave of lava, drowning everything around him in searing bliss as he spent himself inside of Thranduil.

While he fell forward against the Elf’s back in the aftershocks of his orgasm, he faintly heard a wail from the prince. He was still breathless, but he had not missed that Thranduil hadn’t come himself yet; and so he reached around the Elf’s lissome body and started to pump his cock with harsh strokes, the tip of his thumb rubbing over the tip. He pulled out of him – enjoying the sight of his seed dripping out of the stretched hole – and ran the thumb of his other hand over the Elf’s taint, massaging it while he kept the movements of his other hand up – until the Elvenking let out a dark keen and arched his beautiful body into Thorin’s touches while he spilled himself into the Dwarf King’s hand.

~~~

“I expect the exact conditions for our transaction to be presented to me tomorrow”, Thranduil said with a low sigh as he stood up from the bed, after the three of them had just enjoyed the aftershocks of their orgasm for a few minutes. He picked up his dressing gown and motioned his son to do the same, before he nodded courteously towards Thorin.

“I will see you in the morrow.”

And with those words, both Elven royals left, leaving Thorin behind still stretched out on his bed, exhausted and as satisfied as he hadn’t been in decades…

He really would have to make up a good excuse for the King of Men, it seemed…


End file.
